Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Toe the line, mate!

My father was Merchant Marine, my uncle Navy. There was a along lineage of seaman on the Carreras side going all the way back at leaast Jose. He was from Catalonia. On my mothers side th Island folklore had the first Robinson’s arriving with Morgan’s men (Privateers not Pirates!!!).

With this impressive background, how could I avoid the sea? I was in the Navy. But mostly my maritime orientation has been sailing small boats – and creating hand-carved items for boats and about boats.

Growing up, I must have heard the expression “toe the line” several times a day. For the non-nautical, it may express getting in line for a sport or a game. But at sea, we were constantly being told to toe the line. We lined up for Quarters, inspection, sick call, mess decks, or any number of other things.

I think I have avoided it with my kids, they know what it means. But I can only once recall using it the way senior petty officer, or officer ( Merchant Marine, or Navy) might use it – with a growl and a scowl!

The Search

It was at a boat show near Bar Harbor in Maine. I was working my booth, selling items and trying to get commissions. My wife was going around the show with the four kids. Everything seemed fine. Then she arrived at the booth to report that Nick, our oldest had gone missing. I did everything short of calling out the Shore Patrol. I enlisted friends who worked the show to hunt for him my wife hunted for him, and I left my booth in the care of a friend to go looking.

When the show closed there was still no sign of Nick. My wife started to wonder if he had fallen in the water, and started looking in the water. I became increasingly panicked. The as I walked along I noticed a very large party onboard a lovely Baltic Schooner. On board said Baltic Schooner I spotted a small form that looked familiar. the small form waved to me. It was Nick.

A Private Party

I rushed to the float where the schooner was tied up. But found that the party was by invitation only. The owner had invited my son, but I was mere hoi polloi. From the quarter deck, Nick smiled and waved. It took time to convince the owner that my son was missed by his siblings and mother, and he should come along.

In the discussion, the rationale for why a nine-year-old was invited to an exclusive soiree aboard a custom sailing yacht. At nine, Nick had almost grown up at the dockside. As soon as he had mastered the basic understanding of boats costing money and what money was, he took to wandering shows with a folded dollar bill in his pocket. He’d walk up to a boat owner, pull out the dollar, and say, “Mister. If I paid you this dollar bill, right now, would you sell me your boat?”

I had to warn him never to do this with my friend Ralph. Ralph, as a joke, would take the dollar and sell Nick an ancient sailboat from his yard that Nobody wanted. then he’d promised me prompt delivery to my driveway. All this was meant in fun…but why tempt fate!

This time Nick had pulled his trick on the owner of a costly custom built boat. the owner was amused, but also very impressed with the business acumen of one so young. He immediately invited Nick to be his guest.

A Good Dressing Down

I, of course, ruined Nick’s evening of mixing with the cream of the yachting class. He was instead marched back to his mother and siblings and given a dressing down that my old friend Chief Petty Officer John O’Toole would have been proud of. In that sermon, there were several references to Nick needing to toe the line.

Well that it. I have to finish washing the dinner dishes, or my wife will be at me to shape up or ship out, Square myself away like a proper sailor, or make sure to toe the line!